CHAPTER XI
SIGNATURES TO THE WILL
I was so knocked out of the usual run of things by this conversation withCrone that I went away forgetting the bits of stuff I had bought for TomDunlop's rabbit-hutches and Tom himself, and, for that matter, Maisie aswell; and, instead of going back to Dunlop's, I turned down theriverside, thinking. It was beyond me at that moment to get a clearunderstanding of the new situation. I could not make out what Crone wasat. Clearly, he had strong suspicions that Sir Gilbert Carstairs hadsomething to do with, or some knowledge of, the murder of Phillips, andhe knew now that there were two of us to bear out each other's testimonythat Sir Gilbert was near the scene of the murder at the time it wascommitted. Why, then, should he counsel waiting? Why should not the twoof us go to the police and tell what we knew? What was it that Croneadvised we should wait for? Was something going on, some inquiry beingmade in the background of things, of which he knew and would not tell me?And--this, I think, was what was chiefly in my thoughts--was Croneplaying some game of his own and designing to use me as a puppet in it?For there was a general atmosphere of subtlety and slyness about the manthat forced itself upon me, young as I was; and the way he kept eyeing meas we talked made me feel that I had to do with one that would be hard tocircumvent if it came to a matter of craftiness. And at last, after a lotof thinking, as I walked about in the dusk, it struck me that Crone mightbe for taking a hand in the game of which I had heard, but had never seenplayed--blackmail.
The more I thought over that idea, the more I felt certain of it. Hishints about Sir Gilbert's money and his wealthy wife, his advice to waituntil we knew more, all seemed to point to this--that evidence mightcome out which would but require our joint testimony, Crone's and mine,to make it complete. If that were so, then, of course, Crone or I,or--as he probably designed--the two of us, would be in a position to goto Sir Gilbert Carstairs and tell him what we knew, and ask him how muchhe would give us to hold our tongues. I saw all the theory of it atlast, clear enough, and it was just what I would have expected of AbelCrone, knowing him even as little as I did. Wait until we were sure--andthen strike! That was his game. And I was not going to have anything todo with it.
I went home to my bed resolved on that. I had heard of blackmailing, andhad a good notion of its wickedness--and of its danger--and I was nottaking shares with Crone in any venture of that sort. But there Cronewas, an actual, concrete fact that I had got to deal with, and to come tosome terms with, simply because he knew that I was in possession ofknowledge which, to be sure, I ought to have communicated to the policeat once. And I was awake much during the night, thinking matters over,and by the time I rose in the morning I had come to a decision. I wouldsee Crone at once, and give him a sort of an ultimatum. Let him come,there and then, with me to Mr. Murray, and let the two of us tell what weknew and be done with it: if not, then I myself would go straight to Mr.Lindsey and tell him.
I set out for the office earlier than usual that morning, and went roundby way of the back street at the bottom of which Crone's store stoodfacing the river. I sometimes walked round that way of a morning, and Iknew that Crone was as a rule at his place very early, amongst his oldrubbish, or at his favourite game of gossiping with the fishermen thathad their boats drawn up there. But when I reached it, the shop was stillshut, and though I waited as long as I could, Crone did not come. I knewwhere he lived, at the top end of the town, and I thought to meet him asI walked up to Mr. Lindsey's; but I had seen nothing of him by the time Ireached our office door, so I laid the matter aside until noon, meaningto get a word with him when I went home to my dinner. And though I couldhave done so there and then, I determined not to say anything to Mr.Lindsey until I had given Crone the chance of saying it with me--to him,or to the police. I expected, of course, that Crone would fly into a rageat my suggestion--if so, then I would tell him, straight out, that Iwould just take my own way, and take it at once.
But before noon there was another development in this affair. In thecourse of the morning Mr. Lindsey bade me go with him down to mymother's house, where Mrs. Hanson had been lodged for the night--wewould go through Gilverthwaite's effects with her, he said, with a viewto doing what we could to put her in possession. It might--probablywould--be a lengthy and a difficult business that, he remarked, seeingthat there was so much that was dark about her brother's recentmovements; and as the woman was obviously poor, we had best be stirringon her behalf. So down we went, and in my mother's front parlour, thesame that Gilverthwaite had taken as his sitting-room, Mr. Lindseyopened the heavy box for the second time, in Mrs. Hanson's presence, andI began to make a list of its contents. At the sight of the money itcontained, the woman began to tremble.
"Eh, mister!" she exclaimed, almost tearfully, "but that's a sight ofmoney to be lying there, doing naught! I hope there'll be some way ofbringing it to me and mine--we could do with it, I promise you!"
"We'll do our best, ma'am," said Mr. Lindsey. "As you're next of kinthere oughtn't to be much difficulty, and I'll hurry matters up for youas quickly as possible. What I want this morning is for you to see allthere is in this chest; he seems to have had no other belongings thanthis and his clothes--here at Mrs. Moneylaws', at any rate. And as yousee, beyond the money, there's little else in the chest but cigars, andbox after box of curiosities that he's evidently picked up in histravels--coins, shells, ornaments, all sorts of queer things--some of 'emno doubt of value. But no papers--no letters--no documents of any sort."
A notion suddenly occurred to me.
"Mr. Lindsey," said I, "you never turned out the contents of any ofthese smaller boxes the other night. There might be papers in one orother of them."
"Good notion, Hugh, my lad!" he exclaimed. "True--there might. Here goes,then--we'll look through them systematically."
In addition to the half-dozen boxes full of prime Havana cigars, whichlay at the top of the chest, there were quite a dozen of similar boxes,emptied of cigars and literally packed full of the curiosities of whichMr. Lindsey had just spoken. He had turned out, and carefully replaced,the contents of three or four of these, when, at the bottom of one,filled with old coins, which, he said, were Mexican and Peruvian, andprobably of great interest to collectors, he came across a paper, foldedand endorsed in bold letters. And he let out an exclamation as he tookthis paper out and pointed us to the endorsement.
"Do you see that?" said he. "It's the man's will!"
The endorsement was plain enough--My will: _James Gilverthwaite_. Andbeneath it was a date, 27-8-1904.
There was a dead silence amongst the four of us--my mother had been withus all the time--as Mr. Lindsey unfolded the paper--a thick, half-sheetof foolscap, and read what was written on it.
"This is the last will and testament of me, James Gilverthwaite, aBritish subject, born at Liverpool, and formerly of Garston, inLancashire, England, now residing temporarily at Colon, in the Republicof Panama. I devise and bequeath all my estate and effects, real andpersonal, which I may be possessed of or entitled to, unto my sister,Sarah Ellen Hanson, the wife of Matthew Hanson, of 37 Preston Street,Garston, Lancashire, England, absolutely, and failing her to any childrenshe may have had by her marriage with Matthew Hanson, in equal shares.And I appoint the said Sarah Ellen Hanson, or in the case of her death,her eldest child, the executor of this my will; and I revoke all formerwills. Dated this twenty-seventh day of August, 1904. _JamesGilverthwaite_. Signed by the testator in the presence of us--"
Mr. Lindsey suddenly broke off. And I, looking at him, saw his eyes screwthemselves up with sheer wonder at something he saw. Without another wordhe folded up the paper, put it in his pocket, and turning to Mrs. Hanson,clapped her on the shoulder.
"That's all right, ma'am!" he said heartily. "That's a good will, dulysigned and attested, and there'll be no difficulty about getting itadmitted to probate; leave it to me, and I'll see to it, and get itthrough for you as soon as ever I can. And we must do what's possible tofind out if this brother of yours has left any other
property; andmeanwhile we'll just lock everything up again that we've taken out ofthis chest."
It was close on my dinner hour when we had finished, but Mr. Lindsey, athis going, motioned me out into the street with him. In a quiet corner,he turned to me and pulled the will from his pocket.
"Hugh!" he said. "Do you know who's one of the witnesses to this will?Aye, who are the two witnesses? Man!--you could have knocked me down witha feather when I saw the names! Look for yourself!"
He handed me the paper and pointed to the attestation clause with whichit ended. And I saw the two names at once--John Phillips, MichaelCarstairs--and I let out a cry of astonishment.
"Aye, you may well exclaim!" said he, taking the will back. "JohnPhillips!--that's the man was murdered the other night! MichaelCarstairs--that's the elder brother of Sir Gilbert yonder atHathercleugh, the man that would have succeeded to the title and estatesif he hadn't predeceased old Sir Alexander. What would he be doing now, afriend of Gilverthwaite's?"
"I've heard that this Mr. Michael Carstairs went abroad as a young man,Mr. Lindsey, and never came home again," I remarked. "Likely heforegathered with Gilverthwaite out yonder."
"Just that," he agreed. "That would be the way of it, no doubt. To besure! He's set down in this attestation clause as Michael Carstairs,engineer, American Quarter, Colon; and John Phillips is described assub-contractor, of the same address. The three of 'em'll have beenworking in connection with the Panama Canal. But--God bless us!--there'ssome queer facts coming out, my lad! Michael Carstairs knowsGilverthwaite and Phillips in yon corner of the world--Phillips andGilverthwaite, when Michael Carstairs is dead, come home to the corner ofthe world that Michael Carstairs sprang from. And Phillips is murdered assoon as he gets here--and Gilverthwaite dies that suddenly that he can'ttell us a word of what it's all about! What is it all about--and who'sgoing to piece it all together? Man!--there's more than murder at thebottom of all this!"
It's a wonder that I didn't let out everything that I knew at thatminute. And it may have been on the tip of my tongue, but just then hegave me a push towards our door.
"I heard your mother say your dinner was waiting you," he said. "Go in,now; we'll talk more this afternoon."
He strode off up the street, and I turned back and made haste with mydinner. I wanted to drop in at Crone's before I went again to the office:what had just happened, had made me resolved that Crone and I shouldspeak out; and if he wouldn't, then I would. And presently I was hurryingaway to his place, and as I turned into the back lane that led to it Iran up against Sergeant Chisholm.
"Here's another fine to-do, Mr. Moneylaws!" said he. "You'll know yonAbel Crone, the marine-store dealer? Aye, well, he's been found drowned,not an hour ago, and by this and that, there's queer marks, that lookslike violence, on him!"